My na is Jake Morris, and I’m a twenty-three-year-old male stripper. Yes, you heard that right. I perform at an exclusive, won-only club, one of seven n hired to entertain the clientele.
Growing up, life had been a series of hard knocks. I ca from a poor family, attended governnt schools, had no money for college, and was struggling to find any sustainable job. That’s when my wealthy aunt offered a lifeline at her club.
"You’re handso, and you’ve got an athletic build that can make any woman drool," she’d stated.
I knew exactly what she was asking. Most of our family had distanced themselves from her due to her line of work, claiming she’d brought sha to the Morris na. But I was approaching thirty fast, with no job, no house, and most importantly—nothing to show for myself. I felt like I was running on borrowed ti, on the verge of dying carless and bitchless. After two days of agonizing thought, I accepted. I sold my soul for a paycheck.
-------
Like most dancers, I worked the night shift. I got off the bus and started walking toward an infamous street, notorious less for thugs or cri and more for being where n flocked to spend their wages.
I entered the alleyway, and the first thing that hit was the sll. A nauseating cocktail of cheap perfu, stale sweat, spilled beer, and old urine that seed to cling to the damp brick. The alley itself was a suffocating corridor.
The walls, slick with gri, were plastered with peeling, rain-soaked posters advertising long-gone events, and overhead, a single, flickering fluorescent bulb cast a sickly, yellowish glow that did nothing to pierce the heavy shadows.
I heard muffled sounds spilling from the alley I was entering. Two figures ca into full view near a wall.
"Oh, yes, co on, fuck like a man. Fuck harder!" the woman moaned, her breasts straining against her dress, bouncing rhythmically as the man pounded her from behind.
I walked past them, deeper into the alley. More won were engaged with n, clearly negotiating a price. With inflation soaring, the cost of a "short ti" had climbed from sixty dollars to seventy-nine. A bitter pill for the clientele to swallow, but their imdiate hunger ensured the transaction was made.
I wasn’t one of them. I had my own reason for being here.
I studied the won before . They were all in high heels, short skirts, or tight, sheer dresses, their competing perfus creating a dizzying, clashing sensory overload.
This was also a territory where the workers fought—the older whores blaming the younger, fresher arrivals for poaching their clients.
Hey, darling, looking for so action?" An older woman approached . She flung her coat open, revealing large, sagging breasts and wearing only a thong that highlighted her uninviting thighs.
I averted my eyes quickly and kept moving.
"You’d be surprised what an old milf like can do for you. Want a discount, sweetheart? I can give you a taste of D-Rider’s pussy for sixty-nine."
D-Rider, of course, was her street na.
"That’s barely a dollar off," I stated, determined not to look at her.
"A dollar is a lot of money, honey. It can buy you plenty of cigarettes," the old hag retorted, flashing a smile of crooked teeth.
"I’m not interested in buying old pussy. Scram," I muttered, without slowing my pace.
She began cursing, but I paid her no mind. I had finally found what I was looking for.
Her eyes flicked to . She wore her usual outfit, the sa as yesterday, and the day before. A pink lace top clung tightly to her chest, her attractive breasts pushing tautly against the delicate fabric. An untied silk robe showed off her smooth skin; I could catch glimpses of her thighs and the curve of her butt when she moved. In this part of the street, she looked like a centerfold torn from a high-end magazine.I walked toward her.
She flashed a brilliant smile the mont she saw . The way her lips parted reminded why I was so addicted to her presence. They were full and glossed just right, promising the wonders they could perform.
"Back like you never left, huh?" she purred. I’d been here yesterday, and the day before. In fact, I’d been coming here for almost two months now, sa ti every night.
"You must have cast a spell on . I choose you every ti," I said, my gaze locked on her mouth.
She took a handful of condoms from her robe.
"There’s no need for those, baby girl," I said, my voice thick with anticipation.
"Sa as yesterday, then?" she sighed.
"Absolutely. Is the price still the sa?"
"Just went up. Twenty-nine ninety-nine for a blowjob," she said, her perfect white teeth flashing with the smile.
"That’s fair," I replied, pulling the notes from my pocket and handing them over. She counted them quickly and slid them into her robe pocket.
Tracey was one of the most expensive won on this street. Not that it mattered to ; I made well over five hundred dollars a night, sotis topping a thousand on lucky nights. She typically charged one hundred dollars for a short ti—a price that was likely closer to one thirty tonight. But I never paid for sex. I only wanted her incredible mouth.
"You never ask for my pussy; it’s always blowjobs. Don’t you want to know what it tastes like....Jake?" Tracey asked, applying another layer of lip gloss.
"Nah, I’m good. Just suck it like always."
She sighed once more, then got down on her knees.
Reviews
All reviews (0)